


Faraday

by hippoiam



Series: Dinosaur Shaped Lightning [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Crack, M/M, Mating Rituals, Oblivious Jaehyun, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippoiam/pseuds/hippoiam
Summary: Jaehyun is static and Youngho’s world is on fire.





	Faraday

The first time it happened, Youngho’s immortal heart almost stopped beating altogether.

He could feel his pulse palpitate, a rush of blood whizzed around his veins in a furious, anxious joy that left him disorientated and tongue-tried. In retrospect, after he’d gained back the 140 IQ points he’d lost and any semblance of rationality, Youngho realised that it had probably meant next to nothing for his sometimes lovely, more often absolutely aggravating charge who couldn’t possibly have known that stroking an angel’s feathers were a preliminary to fucking on the floor.

So, he ignored it, shook the feeling of warm hands pressed against him out of his mind, and went about his normal life fighting evil, saving mankind and the likes, trying but never quite forgetting about it- before it happens again.

It’s Tuesday, they’re both sprawled out on the couch, reruns of whatever TV show Jaehyun was into at the moment playing on his crappy laptop. (It changed with no particular pattern, at one point it was The Office, then they’d watched Monty Python’s Flying Circus eight times consecutively, the next week Jaehyun had declared that he’d become partial to Gossip Girl, Youngho had stopped questioning it).

Just as Youngho had been drifting off, face shoved into a pillow the ugliest shade of puke yellow he’d ever seen, Jaehyun reaches out, and begins threading his fingers into the soft covert feathers close to his back.

Youngho’s eyes fly open like he’d just been punched into a volcano.

For a moment, he’s not quite sure whether he should start squealing manfully or bring out the condoms, but before he could start seriously considering either as a viable option he glances down, and almost sobs. Jaehyun is curled up to him sleepily, eyes droopy and lips relaxed into a soft line as he gazes at the screen, unaware that he’d just destroyed the last of Youngho’s brain to dick filter.

It occurs to him as a logical idea that he should just tell Jaehyun to stop, and maybe discourage his own emerging erection with thoughts of giant slugs in fields of cacti or Taeyong naked, but, because he hates himself, Youngho just lets out a low hum, and sinks deeper into the puke yellow pillow.

It’s just, Youngho and Youngho Junior hadn’t gotten any tender loving care in over a millennium, and certainly never had anybody touch his wings so intimately other than his mother back when he was a fledgling. He liked it, so sue him, there was a certain charm to spreading the feathers out for someone willingly, trusting them enough to reveal the most vulnerable parts of himself.

At any moment, Jaehyun could punch him in the wings and he’d be on the floor like a sack of angelic potatoes, but Jaehyun probably couldn’t punch a mosquito if you paid him, and Youngho was too drunk on the sweet pressure at the base of his wings to care even if he did.

“Does this feel… okay?” Jaehyun peers at him hesitantly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in a way that made Youngho want to collect a basket of kittens and cuddle them until he died. By now, his heart is thudding so hard that their neighbour was probably going to file a complaint, but the boy in his arms just continues to look at him with that soft, half-lidded gaze of his, shooting rainbows and naked cherubs out of his eyeballs.

“Feels fine,” he grunts in return. It was such a lie, but he couldn’t put the feeling into any words other than ‘let us now engage in some frisky copulation on your hideous couch’; Youngho certainly wasn’t going to say that to someone who still liked Fruit Loops and wore panda socks.

So, he lies there with a massive, throbbing heart boner (and actual boner, but nevermind that) until Jaehyun eventually falls asleep with his hands still sunken into the elder’s wings. Youngho curses his life and attempts to carry him to bed without thinking about how he would very much like to kiss him right now please and thank you. This, of course, fails completely despite his desperate thoughts of a thousand rhinos charging at him at full speed, except those rhinos become dozens of Jaehyuns, and they’re charging at him with full, red lips and he’s so, so fucked it would be kind of hilarious if it didn’t guarantee a lifetime of miserable pining.

If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear Taeyong’s rancid cackling in the distance.

 

By the eighth time, Youngho doesn’t even try to fight it.

Of course, it wasn’t like he tried to fight it the first time either, or the second, or third, or the four times after that, but it felt slightly different this time around, in a way that he can’t quite place. There’s a sugary taste in his mouth that he couldn’t get rid of by swallowing, making his toes flex in restless anticipation, making his chest ache and spine tingle. Although, to be completely honest, that might just be due to the giant gash running down his side.

“You’re an idiot,” the cloth pressed into the wound is removed for a second, only to be replaced with another. Jaehyun is biting his lips again, hard enough to draw blood and Youngho can’t believe he’s thinking about sex again in a time like this but the rational part of his brain that generates that logic is screamed over by all the other parts which demand that he take off his pants right now.

The lead-up to this was less than exciting.

They’d had a good run against the demons (or, Satan’s Sluts, as Haechan insists on calling them, to their faces, which was probably why they’d fought so viciously, biting and stabbing and attempting to reconstruct their faces. That kid was going to get punched one of these days)- but then again the demons had a good run against them, too. Taeyong’s leg will probably be out of commission for an entire week and Haechan will never be able to look at lampposts the same way ever. (That was, all in all, a story best left untold.)

He’d popped back to Jaehyun’s apartment somewhere after eleven to find that he was still hammering away at his laptop, eyebrows furrowed in concentration only to slacken with shock as he takes in the dirt clumped in Youngho’s clothes and feathers, the red slowly seeping through his torn shit.

“You should see the other guy,” the smile he offered is probably rather unconvincing, if the way it made Jaehyun’s face crumple is anything to go by.

“Get on the bed.”

Those words would be welcome under any other circumstance, but Youngho knew that it probably wasn’t going to end in the sexy gay-times he’d been hoping for. Nonetheless, he complied, shuffling into the bedroom to drop onto the covers, feeling the fatigue finally register with his body as the adrenaline wears off.

With what seemed like enough medical supplies to support a small country, Jaehyun marched into the room, lips pursed dangerously with disapproval, softening into a weary sort of concern as he peels away the tatters of the angel’s shirt to reveal the gaping wound next to his ribs, which leads them to this, mellow, gentle Jaehyun mustering all his anger to glare at Youngho, resembling more a pouting puppy than anything. Youngho wanted to giggle and keep him forever.

“Hyung,” he whispers, lips trembling, “what have you done to yourself?”

“Well, to be fair. I didn’t do this to myself exactly, it’s just- Oh _motherfucker_ ,” with two quick sprays, Youngho’s entire body felt like it was going to set on fire. As a general rule, holy water didn’t so much as disagree with demon venom and it did vehemently resent it. Then again demon venom was pretty antagonistic towards anything that wasn’t, well, demons, as the name seems to suggest. Currently, it was hurting more than getting stabbed seventy two times or eating Haechan’s cooking or even getting stabbed seventy two times whilst eating Haechan’s cooking. He clenches his fists into the duvet, groaning into the pillow.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jaehyun murmurs, “it’ll be over soon” and reaches out to squeeze his hand gently. He’d become well versed in tending to wounds over the past couple of years, and it dawns on Youngho with an overwhelming giddiness he would be coddled excessively for at least a week, which was about one of the only good things that ever came out of saving mankind- along with the fridge magnet souvenirs.

By eleven thirty, Youngho was clean of dirt, blood and smelt faintly like jasmine, his cuts and scrapes had been cleaned, the knife wound bandaged carefully. In a second of sweet anticipation, Youngho wonders if it was going to happen. It had been weeks since the last incident of wing touching and he’d let his guard down a little, which made him wholly unprepared when Jaehyun rakes his fingers along his long primary feathers.

“Your feathers are all messed up,” and so is his cognitive functioning. So, if Jaehyun could stop being so _Jaehyun_ all the fucking time and making Youngho fall in love with him that would be great. He really can’t afford to lose any more brain cells at this point.

That doesn’t stop him from encouraging the grooming however, purring at the contact like an overgrown, spoilt kitten. Youngho always tends to feel like a pampered housecat in Jaehyun’s presence, mostly because the younger boy was always offering him food and cuddles, an easy affection that makes Taeyong gag whenever he smells it. Food and cuddles made Youngho a weak man.

He scoots over a little to make space for Jaehyun on the bed, and extends his left wing to rest in his lap.

That night, he goes to sleep with a raging boner.

 

When Yuta finds out, he laughs in his face.

“You reek of hard-ons, man,” he cackles, “has your boyfriend been touching you in naughty places, angel.”

He grimaces, his feathers ruffling up indignantly before a sharp pain threads through them and he stops, rubbing at the spot on his chest where a choking pressure had settled.

Yuta, who was mildly infuriating at best and made someone want to run over him with a steel truck at worst, was the product of an illicit affair between an angel and a human. He never liked to talk about his parents, and nobody ever pressed him in fear of being punched. His childhood tragedies, however, did not stop him from pestering Youngho at every chance about his non-existent love life with Jaehyun.

“He wishes,” Haechan rounds a nearby corner with a shit-eating grin, a crossbow slung over his shoulder, as he comes closer, his nose wrinkles in slightly disgust and he leans close to Youngho and inhales, “you smell weird.”

“That’s the boners I was talking about, kid,” Yuta pulls at his ear, “and don’t think I don’t know you’ve been breaking into Taeil hyung’s porn stash lately, he says it keeps getting stuck on the bit with the nipples, that’s truly just, nasty. You’re underage.”

“I’m over _one thousand years old_ ,” the younger angel bristles indignantly, “plus, cupid’s an infant and he’s still shooting arrows at people’s asses.”

“That’s different, foetus.”

Taking advantage of the two’s temporary distraction, Youngho slips away quietly, making his way through the barracks to where Taeyong was mostly likely meditating or writing in his journal. As the leader of their garrison, he’d been overworked for millenniums, so nobody made fun of him for doing yoga, much.

“Why are you doing yoga again?” Youngho snorts (he lied, they made fun of him every day, it was truly the foundation of their relationship).

“Shut up,” he groans, folding in his wings and creaking open a single eye to peer at him suspiciously, “I know you haven’t mated with anyone because you still smell like frustration and, hate to say it but, unfulfilled erections, so- why are your wings doing,” he wakes a vague gesture in his direction, “that?”

Youngho glances backwards, and almost chokes on his own spit.

“What in the world,” the glands burrowed underneath his feathers at the base of his wings had swollen up and were, what, leaking? He reaches out as if in a trance and pokes at it. It protests by sending a sharp flare of pain through his body. Youngho’s knees buckle.

Suddenly, Taeyong no longer looks to be in the mood for meditating, “you’re going into a fucking rut, dude, that is unbelievably unbelievable. How come you’re going to get laid before I’m going to get laid?” He grimaces, voice nasally from him pinching his nose shut.

“A rut? Not possible, man. I haven’t even, you know, mated,” by now, he’s panicking, wings flaring aggressively as he tries to tamp down the growing urge to stick his dick into something, not going into specifics. The ache he’d felt in his chest from last night was back, pressing his ribs into his lungs, making each drag of oxygen a novelty.

“Too late to dwell on the logistics, Youngho,” he all but screeches, “I’m going to go find Taeil to help sort out your shit. You stay _right here._ ”

Youngho doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone exit a room at such a speed before.

Less than thirty seconds later, he’s back, their eldest angel behind him with furrowed eyebrows. With a single glance at Youngho, he stops short in his tracks.

“Has someone been grooming you?”

Taeil’s mouth is open in abject disbelief.

A trickle of sweat balances precariously on the side of his jaw.

“Yes?”

At his sheepish tone, Taeil raises his eyebrows, his lips turning into a straight line of reproach.

“Yeah, fuck, I know it was stupid of me, but I didn’t think it’ll lead to, fuck, this shit.” It’s the worst possible thing to be having a conversation with your hyung when other parts of the body want to be centre-stage.

Taeil sighs, turning to Taeyong with a helpless shrug, “he’s just gonna have to ride it out,” but at the harsh groan that rips its way out of Youngho’s throat they both wince. His wings are held stiffly behind him, hands trembling with the effort to keep still- even the lightest brush of feathers against one another hurts.

“Is there no other option?”

Taeil chews on his bottom lip hesitantly, “Well…”

 

The ninth time that Jaehyun touches his wings happens like this:

Taeyong and Taeil are gripping onto him as they appear in Jaehyun’s living room. At the commotion, the boy pokes his head out of the kitchen, hair a little messy and glasses askew.

“Hey, hyungs!” He greets excitedly, a wide beam spreading across his face before he catches sight of Youngho who’s hunched over slightly, the muscles in his back and arms tense as he stares at Jaehyun from underneath his lashes.

“What’s going on?” In the typical Jaehyun fashion of doing exactly the opposite of what he should do, he takes a step forward and reaches for Youngho. If he’s not mistaken, there’s almost a glimmer of arousal shimmering in his scent, it smelt like burnt sugar, thick and sweet. Usually, Jaehyun smells like autumn, all pine cones, devotion and cinnamon. Now, he smells like sex, like something Youngho wants to sink his teeth into.

“He’s in rut,” Taeil steps forward, blocking their view of one another, “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you exactly but his body is trying to complete your mating and I really don’t want to do this Jaehyun, but he’s going to be in pain for a while and he needs-”

“Wait, what? Did you just say mating? Rut? I don’t understand,” his pupils have dilated, and he keeps throwing furtive glances around the room as though looking for an answer in the framed picture of a hotdog on his wall.

Taeyong shifts on his feet uncomfortably, for someone who’d said ‘they’re disappearing at an alarming rate’ when Haechan had asked him about the birds and the bees way back when, it was a daunting task to explain that sex was probably going to happen within the next thirty minutes or so because he touched some feathers once upon a time.

“Younho said you’ve been… helping him with his wings?” Taeil chokes out, blushing a bright, flaming red and thankfully saving their garrison leader from having to actually open his mouth.

There’s a split second where Jaehyun’s lips fall open to form a small o marking the instant where understanding makes its first landing on his brain, planting a flag that had a skull on it and definitely indicated Youngho’s doom.

“Okay,” Jaehyun replies, “okay.”

“You don’t have to,” there’s a firmness to Taeyong’s tone that only ever comes out when they’re on the battlefield, “you’re by no means obligated to do this, nothing will happen to him if you don’t.”

They’re obviously not accustomed to Jaehyun’s particular brand of determination, which is generally characterised by ignoring all advice after he makes up his mind and then charging ahead at full speed with no regard to personal safety. Youngho certainly isn’t safe right now, he suspects that ninety percent of his brain is actually just his penis in disguise. He knows that as soon as he’s given the okay Jaehyun will be pinned to the nearest surface and screaming, preferably his name.

“Don’t worry, hyung,” he smiles, barely a crook of the lips, “I want to.”

With reluctance, the two step out of the way and with one last meaningful look thrown his way, they disappear in a flurry of anxiety. For a moment, Youngho’s ragged breathing is the only sound in the room, the rapid rise and fall of his chest the only movement, then, he’s striding forwards, two steps until Jaehyun is in his arms, two more before he’s pressed up against the wall. Jaehyun looks at him softly, and in a move completely unbefitting the heavy atmosphere, leans forward to brush their lips together.

With a low groan, Youngho pushes closer, one hand coming up to cup Jaehyun’s cheek for a better angle. The haze of the rut has cleared enough that he realises that, it’s happening, it’s really, really, happening, Jaehyun is here, they’re making out against the wall like horny teenagers and, if he’s not mistaken, it’s not going to be a one-time thing.

“So,” Jaehyun gasps when they finally break apart, mostly because oxygen is indeed a thing that they need.

“Now you know,” Youngho presses a series of butterfly kisses along his neck.

With a curl of his lips, the younger’s hands tangle in his hair and tugs gently, “know what?”

In retaliation, Youngho sucks a dark bruise onto the juncture between his neck and shoulders, making Jaehyun squirm.

“That we’ve been… courting,” he leans back a little, putting much needed space between them to enable him to form coherent sentences and clears his throat nervously, “you have every right to be made with me-”

“I’m not,” the smile that he offers softens the words, but Youngho’s heart still shrivels inside his chest like a dehydrated prune, “but if you want you can make it up to me later. For now, clothes _off_.” He reaches down to pull at the hem of Youngho’s shirt.

They stumble to the bedroom, shirts flying and Jaehyun’s pants hanging off one calf in a way that would almost be comical if he weren’t so focused on the way Youngho had begun to bite at his Adam’s apple. In a single movement, he pulls Jaehyun’s boxers down his legs, dropping him onto the bed and reaching down to unbuckle his own jeans.

Jaehyun lets out the best type of whimper, shivering slightly at the feel of the cool air on his bare skin.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Youngho finally manages to discard his belt, not able to resist leaning back down to press open mouthed kisses on the spot behind Jaehyun’s ear. The younger boy winds long arms around his neck, pulling him down so that they were pressed together chest to hip.

“What a coincidence,” he grins, lopsided and knowing, “so have I.”

They fuck hard, but slow, with Youngho sliding in after working Jaehyun open with a finger, then two, then three. Just as he’s about to cum, Jaehyun reaches out and digs his fingertips into his feathers, right where his glands are, and the orgasm that hits him almost makes him black out. So, just to give as good as he’s given, Youngho pins him face down into the mattress and makes sure everyone in the building knows what Jaehyun sounds like when he discovers that he does, in fact, have a prostate.

 

The two hundred and thirty fifth time that Jaehyun touches his wings, they’re in front of his garrison, shoving popcorn into their mouths in between sporadic bouts of laughter and cuddling.

Haechan had already complained about their excessive ‘tonsil soccer’ and ‘spaghetti fusion’ in front of them, and adamantly refuses to sit on the couch where he’d caught them kissing just a week prior, instead finding a spot on the floor as far away from them as possible. Sucks for him, Younho supposes, since they’d christened pretty much every surface of the apartment within the first month of their relationship. Youngho Junior had gotten a little enthusiastic at the prospect of finally being appreciated by something that wasn’t his right hand.

Right as the lights flicker in the film, Jaehyun’s palms come to rest against his feathers almost nonchalantly, and he begins to stroke just a moment later, making Youngho tense.

“GROSS,” Haechan screeches as the smell of angel arousal fills the room, feigning vomiting, “I am a _child_.”

“Oh just wait until you and Mark hit puberty, it’ll be an absolute shit-show,” Yuta retorts, aiming a greasy wink at the couple sprawled in the armchair, “don’t worry, Jae, uncle Yuta’s got your back.”

Taeyong flips them the bird.

**Author's Note:**

> That angel AU that nobody asked for. Wrote this after three cups of coffee between sporadic bouts of working on my history assignment. Pretty much crack with smut that I chickened out of writing. 
> 
> You guys are so lovely, by the way, I'm convinced everyone on the internet is made out of marshmallows. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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